


From Hell, With Love

by guccigaloshes, TheHamburgerHero



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred Doesn't Know (Anything), Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Arthur is Jack the Ripper, Closeted Character, Codependency, Drama, Emotional Manipulation, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia (Mild), Jack the Ripper Murders, M/M, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, PTSD, Period Typical Bigotry, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Slow Burn, UKUS, USUK - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29701665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guccigaloshes/pseuds/guccigaloshes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHamburgerHero/pseuds/TheHamburgerHero
Summary: London, 1888: Arthur Kirkland is a prominent surgeon with a highly respected practice. Assisted by Alfred Jones, his young American protege, he does what he can to alleviate the pains of those in the city. It isn't long before he discovers he can do more than just operate on the wealthy; the city is in need of reform, and the brothels of the east end provide a welcome wealth of sacrifices to his noble cause. He only hopes the young Jones won't get in the way of his work, or worse, in the way of his heart.{Human Jack the Ripper AU USUK, where Arthur is the Ripper and Alfred unknowingly falls for a serial murderer}.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 35





	1. Encounter

Arthur had never intended for any of it. But it seemed that life was intent on twisting every one of his pleasurable pastimes into a source of pain. Rather than be swept along by fate’s unyielding current, he simply decided to take control. Only he could be master of his own morality.

His first kill was a woman, a _harlot_ , fair-haired and dark-eyed. She was his favourite, long limbed and quick of tongue, and the things she did with her hands could bring abbots to their knees. Arthur had considered making her his wife, so long as her legs could remain closed to other men. But she chose her profession over his proposal, and so he sought to it to punish her, damning her to an eternity of torture in hell. Luring her out into a dark alley behind Whitechapel, he gutted her on the church steps, severing her heart from her chest, and his from her spirit.

The second woman was much like the first, fair and beautiful. She took to him like a moth to flame, taking it upon herself to make house calls in the dead of night, often without invitation. When she confessed to being with child, Arthur lay next to her in a dingy brothel bed. She had clung to him as he attempted to leave, pleading and begging with him to take her in, to help raise the child. Rather than risk jeopardizing his career, he removed the cause of her attachment and left her to die where she lay, carved like a Christmas ham. 

It was then that he realized, reading about his endeavours in the morning paper, that he could do it again. He _wanted_ to do it again. This practice felt like a calling, a higher purpose sent from God. Only he, Arthur Kirkland, could help restore the city and resurrect the slums of the east end. He needed simply to eradicate the worst of its inhabitants, and he would be regarded as a saviour. And so, out of lust and loss and carnage, the Ripper was born.

It was a Thursday afternoon. The surgery was quiet, save for the buzzing hum of the city outside. Out of nowhere, Alfred got an odd feeling, like a ghost was hovering behind him. He shook it off and turned around, closing the anatomy book he was reading. "Arthur?" 

Something had been off about his mentor lately, but Alfred couldn't tell what. The man didn't... Well, he wasn't really doing anything out of the ordinary. He was teaching Alfred, and Alfred felt so lucky to have been granted an apprenticeship with such a highly esteemed surgeon. He himself had been born in the states, but was brought to London as an infant by his parents. They fled during the aftermath of the Civil War while the country was struggling to mend itself.

Now Alfred was a young man, and an intelligent one. Loud at times, perhaps a bit too clingy. He looked up to Arthur a lot. Sometimes wondered if Arthur found him _too_ clingy— others in the past had told him so. But Arthur had never mentioned it.

And speaking of Arthur...yes, there was definitely something off. Arthur had a strange...aura, or something. Alfred couldn’t place it. Maybe he was getting paranoid?  
  
"So, um... Arthur, what are we... what shall we focus on today? We haven't had any patients call in yet."  
  
"Patience, not patients, Alfred. Must I remind you?" The Englishman was busy re-rolling the cuffs of his shirt, irritated at the unevenness of the creases. "If you're in need of something to occupy your interest, you can rescrub the surgical tools. We might very well have a caller later on." 

Satisfied with the state of his dress, Arthur looked up, nodding to Alfred to adhere to his suggestion. For himself, he wiped his hands on his apron, leaning to gaze out of their surgery window. It wasn't unusual to have a slow schedule, but they'd already had one client withdraw their appointment. _Irritating_. His fingers itched to work with flesh. 

"Are we expecting further cancellations?" he asked disinterestedly, watching a couple ambling by on the street below.  
  
"Not that I am aware of. But today is just... It's awfully slow! These books can only teach me so much!" Alfred pouted a bit from Arthur's chastising. Didn't the man understand that the best learning came from experience and not from reading those old books? 

Re-scrubbing the surgical tools was not a fun task. Still though, he was an apprentice, so he had to obey. And there wasn't much else to do right now. He supposed it was better than reading any more of those crusty pages.

Alfred let out a small sigh and started heading over to the instruments, preparing to clean them. "Have you read the papers today? There was another gruesome murder... a fetus cut out of a woman's womb. Who would do such a thing? It gives me chills. So similar to that murder a week ago, too."

Arthur remained where he was, eyes unfocusing as his ears became acutely aware of what Alfred was saying. "I heard something of that nature, yes. Have they no idea what sort of criminal did such a thing?" 

He watched another passing couple, the man and woman towing an excitable young girl between them. From here, he could nearly hear their hearts beating at varying rhythms, the pulse matching their strides. 

"Heartless," he murmured, finally turning from the glass pane to observe his protege. "Best not to fill your head with such useless things as that. They surely sour one's breakfast."

Alfred shook his head. "No, I can't stop thinking about it! It's so disturbing— and, and the police? I mean, they haven't... no witnesses, apparently. Personally, however, it just seems too... coincidental. Two prostitutes murdered within a week of each other? Both their throats slashed, their womanly parts mangled. And both in Whitechapel. I don't know why, but I have this feeling it was the same person." Alfred's head lowered. "I know they were prostitutes, but... no one deserves to die like that."

He shivered and started scrubbing a scalpel. "I fear what's becoming of this city. I don't remember my home country at all, but... all this poverty, crime, and civil unrest? It seems just as bad to me as the place my parents fled."  
  
Arthur regarded him silently, arms rising to fold against his chest. The silence lingered between them a moment as he carefully considered his next words. 

"This has always been a dangerous city," he said finally, gaze adhered to Alfred's hands, watching as he lathered the metal. "And those women worked in the darkest parts of it. Truly, a terrible thing to have happened to them. But perhaps it will discourage young girls from pursuing such an immoral line of work. And I hope it discourages you from visiting them."

"I-" Alfred abruptly turned around and accidentally dropped the scalpel on the floor. Now he'd have to clean it again. _Dammit_. "What kind of person do you think I am? I haven't even ever— I mean that's to say— I... um. I don't even like—" He swallowed thickly and attempted to collect himself before speaking again. "...That is, you needn't worry about me visiting those places. I am not that kind of person."

 _That was too close._ Alfred had kept his sexuality a secret for good reason. He'd never make it in this profession if he were to be outed. Never. And not only that, he'd never even had any past lovers. Alfred was too focused on his studies and too afraid to be labeled a homosexual.

Something in the boy's response caught Arthur's attention; a stumble where there ought not to have been. He didn't comment, but one eyebrow lifted slightly higher under his fringe. Alfred had always possessed the unique talent of being able to say nothing of substance whilst filling the room with endless chatter. It was curious to catch him in an instance where he said infinitely more by holding his tongue. It was amusing.  
  
"Still, though," Alfred continued, picking up the scalpel before turning his back to Arthur again. "Those women. They're poor. You and I are fortunate to be where we are, educated and all. I hear most women resort to those places because they have nowhere else to go..." He mumbled the last part and started scrubbing the scalpel with more vigor than before. 

Truth be told, the more he thought about these murders, the more he couldn't get them off his mind. Alfred had no interest in the brothels, but he had an interest in saving lives. 

What if there was another killing? Was there some way he could help the police? He almost _wanted_ to visit the crime scenes now. To see if he could find anything.

But no, Alfred wasn't an officer. Now he was in over his head again. Whenever he heard there was a fire, he wanted to run in and save the victims. Whenever there was a brawl at the pubs, he wanted to step in and break up the fight. 

Well, actually he had done that last one a couple of times.

But regardless. Alfred was going to be a surgeon, not an officer. And that would save lives too. Still, though... those murders were nothing like he'd ever heard of before. They were burned into his brain.

"But of course," Arthur replied airily, turning towards the operating table. He gently closed the book Alfred had been reading, careful to ensure all the pages fit together inside the worn bindings. "Those women are unfortunate creatures, driven to desperation. It's quite sad, really. I do hope that eventually their souls make peace with God."

He carried the book to one of their library shelves, tucking it back in its place amidst the other worn and hefty volumes. "Be sure to boil that one," he continued, nodding to the tool in Alfred's hands. "And Alfred.." He smiled softly. "If this is too heavy a subject for discussion, we can move on from it. In the event that we do receive a caller, I wouldn't want them to witness your unsteady hands."

Alfred shook his head. "Arthur, I'm an adult, you know. I would not let this interfere with my work. I am here to save lives." He filled a pot with water, quiet as he mulled over the details of the gruesome murders.

... _Dammit_. Alfred wanted to visit the crime scenes now. Maybe he could ask the women in the brothel if they'd heard anything? He wasn't an officer, but he was smart and could be analytical. Maybe someone had missed something, an important clue—

Good God, why couldn't he get this out of his head? Maybe he really _should_ just go to the crime scenes one day, if only to clear his head by realizing he could do nothing to help.

Alfred was tight-lipped now as he started boiling the water. He was completely lost in thought.

"‘Save lives?’" Arthur echoed with a chuckle. "What an odd thing to say. I've never considered this to be a heroic profession. If anything, I consider it rather mundane."

He smiled again, endeared by his protege's earnestness. "I suppose one could derive the notion that we are helping people, at the very least. My desire has always humbly been to alleviate someone else's pain. On a good day, that means they walk out of here in one sutured piece. And on a less than favourable day..."

He trailed off, letting the sentence finish itself. It was curious to hear Alfred's opinion of their profession. Truth be told, Arthur always assumed he would have more to discuss with a butcher than even a fellow doctor. He cared little for the emotional labour of tending to other people's needs, and he prided himself on his ability to separate himself emotionally from his work. What made sense to him was isolating the problem and removing it. He was glad to have Alfred there to dispense the niceties to the family; the boy was heartfelt and sincere, and his words often did wonders to put patients and their families at ease.

Arthur hummed as he took a seat, opening his daily record ledger to note that the office had been empty today. What _did_ Alfred consider heroic, exactly? It was flattering to have that word ascribed to him. As he considered it more, he supposed that it made sense. Recalling his efforts the previous night, he found he rather enjoyed adopting the idea. How _noble_ it was to have spared that woman the shame of her position and the burden of a child, how _heroic_ , making an effort to control the burdensome population of Whitechapel. Perhaps Alfred was right.

Alfred pursed his lips a little before facing Arthur. The heat in his cheeks had disappeared now. "We _are_ helping people. I know we can't save everyone. But some people, we do save. And some people have their pains alleviated, at least to some degree. I hope that as I get more experience, I can research and write my own discoveries. I think it’s important to advance our knowledge. There is so much we don't understand about the human body yet."

He took a pair of prongs and dropped the scalpel in the boiling water. "So, yes, Arthur. I do consider this a heroic profession. I am here to save lives in any way I can. And with you teaching me, well... I know that I'll be able to do great things one day."

He momentarily forgot about the murders, and the perturbed look on his face was replaced by an admiring spark in his eye. "I consider you a hero."

Arthur looked up from his ledger, quill poised over the page. He smiled in return, nodding to Alfred in acceptance of the compliment. 

"You flatter me. I have no doubt you will achieve all that you hope to accomplish. Already, you've proven yourself to be a trustworthy and capable learner. I shall be reading your name in the papers, soon enough."

He sighed, returning to his task. "Which is why it's a bit irritating to not have callers. You need the practice, and I think you're ready to take the reins on some more minor procedures. Let's put you on the heroic path as well, shall we?"

Alfred's eyes widened. "Truly? You think I'm ready?" A blinding smile appeared on his face. "Arthur, that— that's so exciting! I can't wait! And thank you! I won't disappoint you, I promise."

It was so gratifying to have Arthur acknowledge him. He turned back around, the smile stuck on his face. Cleaning the surgical instruments didn't seem so boring now. He had other things on his mind.

  
True to his word, Arthur allowed Alfred to perform under observation. As the weeks passed, the boy’s skills sharpened; he operated on a variety of patients, from a young boy who needed some scar tissue removed, to an elderly gentleman requiring relief from pressure just above his knees. Arthur assisted when needed, but for the most part Alfred was a quick study, his eagerness and determination to succeed providing him with the focus to perform well under pressure. Really, Arthur couldn't have asked for a finer protege. 

He watched proudly as Alfred finished up the last surgery of the evening, grin wide as he removed his surgical mask. Arthur returned it with a satisfied smile and a pat of congratulations. Together, they washed up, Alfred excitedly regaling how he felt about his performance, Arthur laughing now and then at the ridiculousness of his words.

Once the surgery had been properly cleaned, Arthur was more than ready to leave. Although Alfred had invited him for drinks, he'd declined, citing a need for rest. But he had no intention of returning to his flat to enjoy a quiet evening. No, he'd been planning this night for weeks, perusing the local market for another specimen. His late-night soirees were confined to weekend nights; it took some time for him to journey from his flat into the slums, for no gentleman of his standing would be able to simply call a carriage and be transported to a brothel. He had to travel in secrecy, keeping to the darkness of narrow alley walls, turning his face from curious rabble. And it had been worth it; now, a woman waited for him, as eager for him as he was for her.

Tipping his hat to Alfred, Arthur bid him a good night, setting off on foot towards the east end. He'd mapped out a route: stop by at a pub, slip out the back after half an hour to loiter at another. He'd make his way leisurely from establishment to establishment until he found himself tucked into the alley at Buck's Row, hopefully far away from familiar prying eyes. He didn't truly think that anyone would be following him, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He was in no hurry to provide investigators any trail to sniff out, now that his work had gained citywide attention. So he was cautious, almost as cautious as he was confident.  
  
  
Alfred himself didn't feel like just going straight home. Not after today! Today was a day of celebration, another milestone towards his ultimate goal of becoming a surgeon. It was a shame that Arthur couldn't join him tonight. 

Even so, Alfred wandered the streets, eager to find the perfect place for a celebratory pint. In time, he found himself drawn to the east end, passing familiar streets. He had poked around the brothels there several times over the past few weeks, talking to the prostitutes and asking if they’d seen anything. Many of them flirted with him at first, which was incredibly awkward when he revealed he was looking for the mysterious killer and not a night in a dingy cot with them. Good _God_ were they handsy. It made him flustered.  
  
Unfortunately, Alfred didn’t find anything. The searching helped though; it eased his mind. There was nothing he could do to help catch the killer, so that meant he could forget about it and focus on his apprenticeship.

No, no brothels tonight. He instead found himself at a crowded pub. Alfred grew up sheltered (and also a bit shunned) being an American in England, but he quickly made friends with some of the local folk after they had downed a few rounds. He told them of his successes and they congratulated him, and then they told him of stories from this side of town—crazy, rowdy, wild stories. The east end was lively and dangerous, but the good folk at the pub here quickly made Alfred their mate. And he felt safe, happy, elated, even.  
  
The hours passed like seconds, and before he knew it, Alfred was saturated with alcohol. It was past midnight when he finally decided to make his way home. He was more than wasted; he stumbled through town, blearily trying to find his way back home. Perhaps he should call for a carriage? But where... "Mm.... too many-" he mumbled to himself.

On a nearby street, Arthur entertained a different sort of drunken company. They were against the wall, her giggling stifled by his hand. Arthur had coaxed her away from the house with the promise of privacy, encouraging her to follow him in earnest after he'd politely offered her a drink. One drink turned to three, then five, and soon enough, she abandoned her suffocating bedroom for the cool dark brick of the alleyway. 

"Shh, shush now, love," Arthur whispered, whiskey on his breath. He'd drank enough to be polite, half a glass at each pub, a sip at her lodgings. She was far worse off, nearly delirious with the poison. She mocked him, bringing his finger to her lips as she shushed them both. He smiled at her, amused. His other hand knotted in her hair, tipping her neck to the sky. 

"May God have mercy on you, darling," he whispered into her jaw, fiddling in his jacket pocket with his free hand. "Because I cannot." 

She moaned lightly, eager to get on with the promise of his touch. Her hands grasped at his waistcoat, pulling at him in earnest. He rewarded her with a sudden flash of silver; one cut lengthwise across her neck, a swift second one crisscrossing over the first. 

Her scream was soundless, eyes wide. Arthur felt the spray of her blood on his cheek and stepped to the side, pulling her quickly to the ground as her body jerked, convulsing from shock. He had to make quick work of her. His intent was to mutilate the very epicenter of her sin, and so he sliced open her skirts, using a knife to destroy what evidence he could of her earthly occupation.

"Whadduh..." Alfred heard quiet noises nearby. In his inebriated state he looked around, peering through alleyways. "Hello? S'someone there, I needa carriage back home n' I—"

It was dark, but the sight fifty feet or so from him nearly shocked the alcohol clear out of Alfred's veins. A man in all dark stained with blood, holding a knife. A woman on the ground as the man was—

"Oh my God!"

Alfred stumbled backwards and tripped over a cobblestone, falling onto his behind. He scrambled to get back up and nearly fell again as he started running the opposite direction. There was no saving that woman. Her throat was sliced clean across.

"Carriage! Someone, please, I-I need, need to get outta here thurr's a... fuck, a mur- **MURDER** !"  
  
  
Of all the inconveniences in the goddamn world, of _course_ it had to be this. He'd been seen, and by his bloody assistant no less. 

It was no use, he had to leave her there. The boy's shouting would bring all of Scotland Yard to the scene, and if Arthur didn't _seem_ like the sort of man to butcher a woman in an alley, his bloodstained waistcoat certainly convicted him. Swearing quietly, he leapt to his feet, making quick work of chasing the boy down. From behind, Arthur reached around him, clamping a shaky hand over his mouth as he bodily dragged them both into another narrow street, forcing Alfred to retreat. He held his knife to Alfred's neck; a warning prick of silver in the dim light. 

"Quiet, boy," he breathed, voice hoarse from fear and anger. "You're not meant to die, but I'll cut your throat if you yell again, do you understand?"  
  
The world spun as Alfred was dragged off. He couldn't even fight back; he was too inebriated. Then he felt the cold metal against his throat, and he choked up with tears. Alfred pushed himself back against Arthur, squirming in an attempt to distance the knife from his throat.

"Mhh! _Mhm!_ Mhhm! Yhh! _N'drsnd!_ " He couldn't die like this, not here, not now!

Alfred started sobbing as he held his hands up in surrender. His heart was racing, his head spinning with pure fear. What else could he do?  
 **_  
_** Slowly, Arthur extracted his hand, moving his fingers to rest against Alfred's chin. He kept the knife raised in warning. 

"You've seen nothing but a tragic accident. That's all that it was. You will _not_ go crying to the coppers, you will _not_ speak of this to anyone, and you will _not_ return here again. Do I make myself clear, yank?" 

His breath was shallow, heart racing faster than a team of thoroughbreds. He kept them both still, hunched in the shadow of the alleyway. To be caught now was to forfeit everything.  
  
Alfred felt like he was going to faint. "Y-yes sir. I'll never... nev... I won't breathe a word to anyone, I swear!" He whimpered. The tears kept rolling down, making his vision even blurrier. 

"Please, jus' lemme go, please m' tryna'— I'm a good pershon— please s-sir, I won't. I won't. I swear on my father's grave I won't! Nuth'n! Won't saying 'nything!"  
  
"Away with you, then," Arthur hissed, releasing Alfred with a firm shove. "Return home or it will be the death of you." 

On instinct, he brought an arm over his own face, knife still brandished in case the boy decided to turn around and play hero. It was Alfred, so the event was rather likely. Displeasure ran through Arthur like unwatered tonic. He would like nothing less than to have to kill him.

But Alfred didn't dare turn around. He just ran. He ran, and he ran, and he ran until his lungs felt like they would collapse inside his ribcage. He fell to his knees in some dark alleyway. Still wasted and now deprived of adrenaline, he passed out right there on the street as it began to rain.

He woke up some hours later, just as dawn was setting in. He groaned and opened his eyes. His body ached all over, and he felt nauseous. And he was... on some dirty old street. He was covered in dirt and grime and soaking wet from the night's rainfall. 

"I...." He coughed and sat up, feeling a small sting on his throat. He reached up and touched it. A nick from a blade.

That was all it took; the drunken hazy memories of the previous night flooded in like a typhoon. Alfred nearly choked on his own spit and stood up shakily, his legs quivering.

People were passing him by like nothing was out of the ordinary. He tried to gain his senses. Okay. He needed to get back home, first off. And then he needed to get to work. And then he needed to...

  
"...Dear Lord, that was him. That was... _him._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any historical inaccuracies — we did do extensive research, but neither of us are experts in Victorian culture and custom. This started off as a fun little RP, but it's really expanded to become a massive work. Thank you Al (TheHamburgerHero) for writing such a wonderful and sweet Alfred, and for putting up with my massive wanker of an Arthur. Thanks for reading!


	2. Prognosis

Somehow, Alfred stumbled his way back home. He took a very long bath, lost in thought and shock. By the time he arrived at the clinic, he was four hours late.

"I'm... I apologize, Arthur, last night I—"

He cut himself off. He couldn't say a word. Or that man would find him..."Rough night. It will never happen again, y-you have my word." He sat down at his usual chair with a glazed over look in his eyes, like he was looking into a different dimension.

Arthur was busy sweeping the floor, his back to Alfred as the boy entered. "Everything alright?" he called over his shoulder, doing his best to keep his voice unaffected. "Not sick, are you?"

He was damn _lucky_ that Alfred had been intoxicated, too drunk and confused to place his voice or disobey his commands. Arthur had been half expecting to be detained outside of work by a swarm of police; he had offered a very quick prayer of thanks when he found the surgery undisturbed. 

The morning paper had alerted the public of the crime but the report was lacking; the victim was still unidentified, and Scotland Yard had yet refused to comment. Speculation attributed the murder to a jealous lover or an ex-employer. So far, Arthur was in the clear. But the run-in with Alfred had been extremely too close for comfort. He would need to be more careful and encourage Alfred to drink in other, safer parts of the wide city.

Alfred was so out of it that it took him a few moments to realize Arthur even asked a question. "No, I'm... not sick. Though I do need some...gauze." 

He sluggishly walked over to the supply cabinet and pulled out gauze and medical tape. He sterilized the cut on his neck with some alcohol, hissing a bit from the sting under his breath before wrapping the bandage around his neck. 

Silent and sullen, he trudged back over to his chair and sat down, slowly picking up the anatomy book he'd been studying. He'd actually finished reading the whole thing a week ago. But he absentmindedly opened to a random page and just gazed down at the text, pretending to read.

"...I got— it's nothing really, don't fret... I um, in a fight at th- ... um.. I got in a fight at a pub last night. I'm all right. Just... shaken."

His bright blue eyes now looked dull and dead.

Initially, Arthur's intention had been to distance himself further from the boy, to maintain a very clinical teacher-student relationship up until Alfred was fully licensed. But listening to his voice quiver, feeling the uncomfortable atmosphere settle about them; Arthur made up his mind to completely abandon his plans. 

Pausing with his task, he set the broom against the surgery table before approaching Alfred, expression one of practiced concern. "A fight?" he questioned, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly. "And someone cut you? That is some serious fight, Alfred."

He moved his hand further, fingers grazing over the gauze. "Have you any idea the identity of your assailant? I'd be quite happy to have words with him over this....criminal behaviour. That's what this is, quite frankly. Are you injured anywhere else?"

Alfred flinched when Arthur's fingers passed over the gauze, the touch reminding him of the knife. "NO! I don't— I don't know anything. I know nothing about h-he. Him. I know nothing at all. I was drunk. He was a man on the east end. That's it. I'm bruised up a bit. I'm fine, Arthur. I am fine. You'll never catch the man who did it, so d-don't... don't bother looking for him. Please."

He was gripping the anatomy book so hard that his hands were white. Alfred realized this and tried his best to relax them. He didn't want Arthur to prod. He couldn't let him know. The fact that Arthur was even acting so... empathetically. That was a change too. Alfred didn't know what to make of it right now. All he knew was that he was overwhelmed and that he couldn't tell anyone that he'd seen Jack the Ripper.

The boy’s palpable fear was unsettling, at the very least. And though it was completely Alfred's fault for his own injury, Arthur reasoned that the teaspoon of guilt he felt was probably somewhat justified. Again, he inwardly cursed his assistant for even having the _notion_ to traipse about the slums; he'd said that he'd been poking around in the brothels, even though Arthur had sternly advised against the idea. It was unfortunate that Alfred now looked like he'd been on the other end of a ghostly encounter, but perhaps it was for the best.

"East end?" Arthur questioned, retracting his hand. "When there's a bloody killer on the loose? Alfred, I...I'm not your parent, but Christ." He gave the boy some distance, stepping back to look at him more fully. "It's lucky you didn't lose your life. Imagine if that drunk fellow had worse intentions than settling a score. I seriously, _seriously_ hope you reconsider where you go for a pint."

Alfred kept his head low, avoiding all eye contact. "Not all the people in those parts of the east end are bad, Arthur. They're much less stuffy than people in this neighborhood. And I... I mean, the murderer has only been killing women, so I thought…It’s fine. He didn't even have a score to settle. He was just... He was a _monster._ That's what he was. A monster. Let's leave it at that."  
  
Arthur’s jaw twitched. _Monster?_ Hardly.  
  
Alfred didn't want to speak anymore on the subject. He had already said too much. "Don't report to the police. It's pointless. I... I will not go to that pub again." He started fidgeting, blinking a few times. Alfred was never a good liar.

He had liked that pub. Sure the men there were poor, but they... He'd had a fun time. Felt like maybe he could make friends. Alfred always craved social interaction, and his upbringing prevented much of that. So whenever he had the chance, he would go all out.  
  
Regardless. Next time, he would take a carriage straight home. No street wandering. Not on his life. Literally.

"I won't press you about it," Arthur replied, feeling ice melt in the back of his throat. "Just, be careful. I don't want to read about you in the next morning paper."

It was true, but the truth suddenly felt superficial. Arthur turned from him, reaching for his broom. His mind worked to try and rationalize his feelings. A _monster_ . Sure, if he had been young and naive, he would have labelled the mystery Ripper similarly. But none of them, not the journalists, not the police, not Alfred....they had no idea of his intentions, no base for his reasoning. They were simply afraid, too stupid to see the _point_ in all this. To recognize the artistry of it. 

A monster killed indiscriminately, without purpose or pain, without the burden of duty. A monster would have ended Alfred's life without a second thought. But Arthur was no monster, surely. He simply saw a need and filled it. God forbid he should enjoy the work. 

Tight-lipped, he resumed sweeping, caught between wanting to comfort Alfred with an invitation to drink after they were off, and not wanting to speak with him for the remainder of their day.

"I'll be careful. But Arthur, I..." Alfred opened his mouth to say something else, but choked down his words. Falling silent once more, he remained motionless, forgetting his duties and the book that lay before him. An uncomfortable silence settled inside the clinic, the only noises being the two of them breathing and the bristles of the broom scraping against the floor. 

Alfred’s mind was a swirl of misery. All he could think about was last night: the sting of silver against his throat, a man who sounded like the Devil himself restraining him and whispering death threats into his ear. He wanted to cry, but he couldn’t, not at work. So he simply sat.

Arthur left him to collect his thoughts. The minutes stretched into half an hour and further as Arthur cleaned absolutely every inch of the practice. Finally, finding no remaining dust or dirt on the floor, Arthur set the broom back in its place. Now he had an assistant to tend to.

He regarded this new type of Alfred from his desk and found he rather despised him; he was sullen and silent, more of a corpse than the cadaver in the back freezer. It was like Alfred _had_ died in that alley, his soul up and leaving him through the cut on his throat. But he'd gotten away, hadn't he? So what was left for him to fear? If he simply did as he was told, he had no reason to be afraid. And certainly, Arthur wouldn't allow this melancholy to continue, not when they had a patient to tend in the afternoon.

Arthur sighed, finding it within his heart to approach once more. He rested a careful hand on the book Alfred was pretending to study. "Alfred," he asked softly. "Are you needing to return home? I can manage, if you need the space."

Alfred looked up, meeting the surgeon’s gaze. Arthur's eyes seemed warmer than usual. Less clinical. He found a small amount of solace in that. Maybe he could turn to Arthur for comfort.

"I... yes, I think I must... I should return home. I need to collect my thoughts."

He stood up quickly, accidentally bumping into the other. "M-my apologies." He shook it off and trudged over to the door, putting on his top hat ( _God_ did he despite that thing. Ugh, he should rid himself of it). He pulled his coat over his shoulders, fingers trembled over the buttons. He then pushed open the door and left without another word.

A short carriage ride later, Alfred had returned home. He made quick work of stripping before he crawled into bed, allowing himself to fall apart.

* * *

Genuinely, Arthur had thought that his newest endeavors wouldn't hurt anyone. Well, not anyone outside of the intended victims. 

But Arthur couldn't shake the image of Alfred, drawn and dismal and void of all the liveliness and vigor that made him _Alfred_. His mind was distracted as the day wore on, not so much as to botch any of his operations, but enough to leave his patients with a rather somber and antisocial surgeon. He was eager to finally dismiss them; in doing so he ignored their attempts at friendliness, finding himself unable to hold any length of conversation. 

As he redressed for the evening, once finished with tidying and surgery prep, he considered the repercussions of paying Alfred a visit. It was a Friday, and the practice was closed on weekends. The boy would have enough time to rest and recover with two days of freedom, surely. But perhaps a friendly evening with Arthur would rekindle his spirit. It would certainly strengthen a bond of trust between them, and furthermore, clear Arthur of any suspicion. 

....Because Alfred _did_ suspect something, didn't he? Surely not the truth, but _something_ , nonetheless. 

Arthur, confident as he was, couldn't help but wonder. The anxiety of it drove him to arrive at Alfred's doorstep. Knocking twice, he waited outside, hat in his hands. It was highly likely that Alfred would refuse him, or simply be asleep and leave him stranded at the door. Still, he waited, shuffling from one foot to the other in trepidation.

Alfred was on the couch, eating some bread that he probably should have thrown out yesterday. He didn’t have the energy to make food. He lay half dressed, undershirt untucked and his hair a disheveled mess. He heard a few knocks on the door and went into panic mode; he was in no fit state to receive company. But he could hardly just leave the visitor there...

"A moment!" He scrambled to tuck in his shirt and smooth down his hair. He looked around for the other pieces of his outfit and couldn't find them. No time to find them. He sighed and looked through the peephole. For a moment he froze and thought he saw—

 _No. No, never mind_ , that was just Arthur. Wait, Arthur? What was he...?

Alfred didn't want to be seen like this, but it would be awfully rude to leave the man at the door. The oil lamps in the main room were lit, so it was clear someone was home by the light gleaming out of the window.

Alfred creaked open the door, careful not to show too much of his face or body. "Um, good evening Arthur, do you... need something?"

"Ah, evening Alfred," Arthur said hastily, smile thin. "I just was concerned about you today, and, well, I figured I'd pop by to..." _To check on you_ , he didn't say, though it was the truth. "Well, I feel as though I could go for a drink and wanted to see if you were interested in tagging along?"

He turned the brim of his hat in his hands, averting his eyes. It was clear that Alfred was ill prepared for company, much less in a hurry to brave the public scene. Perhaps he had been overhasty, bothering him at his home.

"Oh, you'd... you'd like to go to the pubs with me?" A quiet gleam flashed across Alfred's eyes before they returned to that tired, embarrassed look. "I'm... not quite well-dressed right now, to be honest with you... I..." He pulled at his shirt, trying to tuck it in better. It was all crinkled.

He honestly didn't want to go out tonight, but maybe he needed to take his mind off things. And Arthur had never offered before, so how could he just squander the opportunity? The man had come all this way...

Alfred pushed his sloppy bangs out of his eyes. "Oh! U-um, pardon my rudeness. You may step inside. Forgive the mess and my... current appearance. I can change into something more tasteful. I look sloppy." He opened the door fully, averting his eyes and scurrying off to his bedroom to change clothes, eager to save himself from further embarrassment.

Slightly open-mouthed, Arthur let himself inside, closing the door behind him. He hadn't been to Alfred's home before, and was surprised at its relative sparseness. It wasn't empty, not at all, but in comparison, his family home was nearly claustrophobic from the myriad of paintings and heirlooms that decorated the walls. This home felt...freer, somehow. 

"It's quite fine," he called through the hall, busying himself with looking over the fireplace mantel. From a small wooden frame, a younger, bright-eyed Alfred stared back at him, sandwiched between what Arthur assumed to be his parents. The boy definitely took after his father in stature, having grown to quite the height. But his features were his mother's; light eyes, a sharp nose, full cheeks. They were a handsome family.

Alfred had spoken of them, once, happily reliving a memory of when they had travelled the countryside for one of his early birthdays. He rarely mentioned them after, perhaps troubled by the pain of the past. Arthur, no stranger to strenuous family situations, hadn't pressed the matter. His own father hadn't spoken to him since he was a boy. 

When Alfred reappeared, Arthur was bent at the waist, admiring Alfred's collection of literature. His books ranged from fictional stories to heavy volumes, boys' tales intermingled with science and law. It was a diverse accumulation, and it represented Alfred well, so Arthur thought.

"Oh, haha... I see you've discovered my bookcase. I like fiction a lot. It's fun to escape from the real world sometimes." Alfred smiled wryly to himself. _Would be real fun to escape from it right now, in fact._ "I know my home isn't much, but it is what it is. I do so love those books, though."  
  
He looked at them a bit gloomily before trying to shake off his bad mood. Arthur was clearly here to cheer him up. It was best to try and forget about what happened yesterday. "So, um, if you'd like, well, I'm ready to depart now, so..."

"I think it's lovely," Arthur commented, righting himself to turn and face Alfred. "Your home. Very peaceful." He nodded to the collection of books, eyes narrowed in amusement as he smiled. "And you've got quite the collection. I remember reading some of these as a boy. But, I'm afraid I lost track of most of my childhood things at one point or another..." 

He trailed off before shaking his head, eager to divert the conversation. Adjusting his stance, he gave Alfred a once-over, satisfied with his appearance. "You certainly cleaned up. But I must ask you if you truly do want to spend an evening with me? You've had a hard day, so I'm completely...I understand, if you're just being polite. The pub will always be there."

A hint of a smile appeared on Alfred's face at the approval of his collection. Any compliment from Arthur meant so much to him. "No, I think I need this. I've been... I need a distraction."

He headed to the door, grabbing his coat. He took one glance at the top hat and scrunched his nose. Not today. He didn't want to wear that ridiculous thing. He didn't understand why they were so popular. No, tonight he wasn't in the mood to comply with society’s garish standards. "Let's go."

Nodding, Arthur followed him back out into the street. A carriage was already waiting; Arthur climbed into it as Alfred did the same. Signaling to the driver, they made their way through the crowded streets, heading towards the pub that Arthur had deemed appropriate. 

The journey was thankfully quite short. Arthur made quick work of paying their driver before he motioned to Alfred to join him. "This place, have you been here before? It's not as popular as the ones on the main road, but that's more to my liking anyhow." 

The pub in question was small and sparsely lit. Outside, gentlemen stood with half-filled glasses, laughing and chatting amongst themselves. But Arthur politely pushed past them, leading Alfred inside where it was warmer. The atmosphere was friendly, upper class but not suffocating, the walls decorated in faded union colours and fairy candles. The barman was stout and bearded, loud-voiced and quick. Along the back, several tables stood empty, silently awaiting their patronage.

"Oh, it's..." Alfred was a little concerned at first. He didn't usually enjoy the "gentlemanly" high society bars. He didn't fit in, and the people there tended to be so egotistical, strutting about as if they were better than everyone else. Perhaps that's why Alfred liked that east end pub so much. It was the exact opposite.

"This is actually quite relaxed,” he continued, observing the casual atmosphere. “It's not the type of place I'm accustomed to, but I think I like it. You have good taste." That hint of a smile showed again. Alfred nodded to a corner table. "That one?"

"Perfect," Arthur agreed. Before Alfred turned, Arthur caught his sleeve, leaning close as he lowered his voice. "And Alfred, don't pay any mind to what anyone else thinks. You deserve to be here as much as any of them." 

Letting him depart, Arthur headed for the bar, intent on helping them both forget the tenseness of the day. For himself, a gin, and for Alfred...he paused, not sure of the American's preferences. He himself had a light tolerance, something he actually rather despised about himself. Alfred seemed as though he could hold his own, but, better safe than sorry. He ordered a cocktail; he himself had never had one, but had been told they were all the rage overseas. 

Once the drinks had been acquired, Arthur navigated through the patrons of the establishment, headed towards where Alfred sat. "Here you are," he said as brightly as he could manage, offering the glass. "I've got the tab."

Alfred swallowed as he took the drink. "Thank you. You don't need to pay the whole tab, though—"

He looked at Arthur. "How did you guess I like cocktails? I despise hard liquor. I don't know how you can stomach that. I only drink those kinds of things to... well, get drunk. Haha."

 _Why was he telling his boss about getting drunk?_ Alfred barely restrained himself from slapping a hand to his face. Instead, he took a sip from his drink so he wouldn't end up saying more stupid things.

Taking his seat, Arthur waved a hand, dismissing the idea that Alfred would pay any sort of due for what he considered to be _his_ invitation. "I wasn't sure, quite honestly. But I figured something flavourful would be a wise choice. I really should have ordered one for myself. It smells lovely."

He took a sip of his gin, lightly watered with tonic and a hint of lime. "And habit, I suppose. I never intend to get myself drunk but...well, depends on the day." He muttered that last part, finding himself thirsty for more of it.

Alfred snorted. "You? Getting drunk? I didn't think it possible. You're so..." Alfred took a moment to think of the right word. "Well, I suppose it's because up until tonight, I've only seen you at the clinic. It's strange remembering that your teacher doesn't just... teach. Well, and in your case, perform surgeries. What types of things do you enjoy? Hobbies, I mean. Outside of work."

Alfred took another sip of his drink. This whole atmosphere... sitting across from Arthur at a secluded table, talking about drinking and hobbies, it was...Alfred swallowed thickly again.

Arthur laughed politely, setting his drink on the table. "I hadn't considered...Of course this might be a bit odd for you, to see me like this. I hope it's not uncomfortable." He raised his eyes, meeting Alfred's. "It's...not uncomfortable, is it?"

His fingers tapped lightly against his glass, considering how to answer Alfred's following questions. _Hobbies?_ The reality that his life was rather dull outside of work slowly sank in, clouding over his expression. _Well sir, when I'm not in the brothel, I suppose I enjoy a leisurely stroll along the Thames_. He'd have to come up with something.

Alfred shook his head. "N-no! It's not uncomfortable. Just... different." He brought his drink up to his lips again. 

Actually, it was _super_ uncomfortable. The longer they were sitting here, the more it felt like Arthur was attempting to court him. But Arthur was into women, wasn't he? He had to be. And regardless, the prospect of even bringing up such a subject, even _entertaining_ the thought...No. Too risky. Especially considering he was the man’s apprentice. 

But the idea sank further into Alfred's brain. Was _that_ why he admired Arthur so much? Always clung onto every miniscule compliment? _Was it because he liked hi-_

Alfred's thoughts were racing so quickly that the lad took too large a gulp of his drink. He started coughing, spilling a bit of the liquid onto the table. Even more embarrassing, what was he doing?! And now he was having a coughing fit. "Mh- sorry-" he choked out.

Taken aback, Arthur stood abruptly, far too reactionary for the relative tameness of the situation. Looking around, he motioned for a server to bring them a napkin, then sat back in the booth, ears red in self-consciousness. 

"You alright?" he asked kindly, pulling his drink slightly closer, out of the way of Alfred's immediate vicinity. "The sherry, I know, can be a bit arresting sometimes." 

He waited patiently until he was sure that Alfred wasn't about to pass out from lack of air, biding his time by taking another sip, then two. The gin burned pleasingly in his chest, easing the lingering paranoia that somehow, Alfred was investigating him, noticing every misstep. Presently, an attendant appeared, sopping up the spill and providing a small glass of water before bowing, leaving them alone once more. 

"You uh, my hobbies," he redirected, clearing his throat. He could practically feel the heat from Alfred's embarrassment radiating off his face. The booth was rather warm, suddenly. He did his best to ignore it. "Well, I must admit I don't do much outside of work. Not much that's of interest, anyway. Surely, you do, though?"

"Ah, um, well," Alfred's coughing fit had ceased once he took a few sips of water. Still, he could feel heat on his cheeks. In all seriousness, was Arthur testing his sexuality right now? Is that what this was about? _Please Lord, let me think of something else. This is a bad idea._

"You already know I love reading fiction and studying science. I also enjoy going to the theatres when I can! Have you ever been to the Globe? I love watching Shakepeare's works! Oh, and well, y-you know too that I enjoy going around the pubs. I just want to chat with people, honestly. Not much to it. I also like going outside sometimes and just... well, the stars don't shine very brightly here. You need to leave the city to see them better. But sometimes I just like to... look up at them. And I wonder what's truly out there. Sometimes I wonder if I'd ended up studying astronomy instead of this." He laughed slightly.

_I'd also like to date someone. If only I could be cured of this homosexuality disease._

Alfred dropped his gaze abruptly and stared down at the table. Damn it all, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He couldn't stop thinking about Arthur. The man’s eyes were a nice green color, he noticed. _Stop, dammit._

This felt like a date. And the red on Alfred's cheeks wasn't going away. He finished off his drink. Maybe he should pretend the flush was from intoxication.

"Shakespeare, really?" Arthur questioned, before noticing that his gin had miraculously disappeared. _Easy, now._ What must Alfred think of him, finishing off his drink in such a short amount of time? Arthur regarded the glass for a moment, taking a breath before he noticed Alfred's was empty as well. That brought him some comfort. They both were reliant on the alcohol tonight, it seemed. 

He cleared his throat. God, why did it _matter_ even, what Alfred thought of him? He had nothing to prove, nothing to be embarrassed by. Alfred could think what he wanted. So long as it wasn't the truth. Everything else was irrelevant. Right?

"The theatre. I mean, it makes sense, knowing you. I just. I'm surprised, is all." He could picture Alfred standing in the yard, eyes wide as he watched the actors above. The image made him smile."It seems that the theatre doesn't often hold a gentleman's interest nowadays." 

He realized with a sharp bite of regret that he'd definitely implied something there. "I mean, _I_ enjoy the theatre as well," he said quickly, smile instantly apologetic. "It's lovely. Sometimes it's nice to immerse oneself in the arts. I should, well, I should try and make time for that more often. All I ever hear about nowadays is the races, or the stock market, or, God knows...I uh, I find that commendable that you enjoy it. Really, I do." Lord _fucking_ Christ, this was going poorly. He hoped the server would return with another round.

Alfred's heart leapt. "Really? You enjoy the theatre too? It's so fun! It's just like my fiction books, except... well, it's as if you're watching it in real life. You know what I mean? As I said, I particularly love Shakespeare. Some of the verses can be difficult to understand, but the plots are so ridiculous and exciting. The crowds are.. well, you're right. They're not upper class, typically. But everyone has a good time. What are your... favorite shows?"

This was a dangerous game. Alfred was torn between wanting to continue this rabbit hole of a conversation or dashing out of the pub with some poor excuse about feeling ill, or... something. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief as another round of drinks was brought to their table. Alfred nodded in thanks and immediately brought the second cocktail up to his mouth. _If we did get drunk right now, what would happen?_ He glanced at Arthur over the rim of his glass.

"Hmm, a fair question. I suppose I've always been partial to _Othello_. It's delightfully intricate, and, true to Shakespeare, one of his most masterful tragedies." Arthur accepted another drink gratefully, feeling himself growing more comfortable by the minute. "But I enjoy the lighter works as well. I used to see Midsummer's every season, when the weather was fair. Have you any idea what's playing now?"

Why had this taken them so long? They'd been acquainted for years already. Arthur supposed they would've continued on much the same way if Alfred hadn't blundered so severely the previous night. It might have ended up that the first time they celebrated something together, it would've been Alfred opening his own practice, or perhaps a drink celebration of his marriage. 

That line of thinking distracted him. _Was_ Alfred engaged? He was sure he would've been introduced at this point. He'd met several of Alfred's friends over the years, some less favourable than others. But Alfred hadn't mentioned a partner, not recently anyway. Or perhaps he had and Arthur had deemed the information too unimportant to remember. He'd make more of an effort to listen, going forward. He had to, for his own protection.

Alfred was drinking his second cocktail faster than the first. Maybe he was being reckless. But well, this was helping him forget about the previous night, even if he was on edge about this whole occasion. The alcohol was starting to sink in his veins, and it was relieving some of his nerves.

"Hmm, I'm not quite sure. I know there was a flyer posted up around town nearly a fortnight ago for _As You Like It._ Perhaps they're still performing that one? I prefer the comedies, honestly. Don't mistake me, I do appreciate the dramas too. I just think a good laugh is desperately needed sometimes, especially in times like these." He took yet another sip before finally blurting out something he'd probably regret later.

"Would you like to go to the Globe with me some time? The yard is actually the best place to be, better than the seats! You do have to stand the whole time, but the audience there is much more energetic, and you feel more connected to the actors. They're right in front of your face. I must warn you though, the crowd can get quite rowdy at times. I'm used to it, but I'm not certain if you are." Alfred found himself already fond of the idea. He’d happily go with Arthur to the Globe, or even to the countryside where they could look up at the stars and breathe, far from the smog-ridden London air.  
  
Thinking this way was nothing less than dangerous. But with every sip he took, he was growing less anxious. Arthur really _did_ have nice eyes. His brows too, they were... unique. In a good way. His nose too, that was nice.

_Alfred, you're sick. It's a disease..._

Well, okay. Forget about the disease for tonight. He was here to enjoy himself right? Maybe entertaining some fantasies wouldn't be a bad idea once in a while. Maybe it was the alcohol’s influence, but it seemed to Alfred that Arthur was showing signs of interest. Possibly?

Arthur, meanwhile, was surprised at the invitation. He considered himself rather fast-moving; he'd had affairs that sprung from a simple glance, been strangers and lovers with others in the span of an evening. And yet he found himself reeling from Alfred's earnest invitation, wary of the suddenness of it. He'd proposed it so easily, as though Arthur was simply a peer, as though neither of them had anything to lose. 

He wondered at himself, considering the unsaid. _Was_ it too forward? Perhaps, if Alfred's intention wasn't purely innocent. Arthur furrowed his brows. No, there was no way. Alfred was many, many things. But interested in _men?_ Surely, not. He was young and capable, and this was purely friendliness, that’s all. Arthur blinked at him, taking a pause to down the other half of his drink. The warmth was here to stay, it seemed, seeping from his chest and up his neck, undoubtedly flushing his face. 

"I think that'd be lovely," he said sincerely, setting his empty glass near the edge of their table. "You're right that I should take the time to enjoy things. Perhaps it would be a good idea to spend more time together, outside of work." 

Perhaps _he_ was the one being forward, now. Alfred would only catch it if he had the sense to. Arthur was so used to keeping this side of him locked in a closet, reserved for dark nights and hazy underground soirees. But, he reasoned, Alfred had already met the other darkest part of him. What was one more secret?

Alfred opened and closed his mouth a few times. He looked down and realized he'd finished his second drink, and a third was sitting next to the empty glass. _Arthur accepted the invitation?_ Were they...was this...? Alfred reached for his third glass. Maybe he was getting too bold. He could end his career doing this.Was he really willing to try and...?

Fuck. Yes, he was.  
  
"Arthur, um..." His face was pink. "Arthur, what do you think about, um... well, you know, think about, er, men that um, men that..that." He didn't know how to phrase it; the cocktails were hardly helping with his eloquence. His blue eyes glazed over, watching the man across the table.

Arthur was quiet, brows drawn up under his bangs. This was proving to be _quite_ the entertaining evening.

Nothing had prepared him for this incredible development. Alfred Jones, friend of everyone, also a closeted homosexual? It felt like the world was playing a practical joke, and Arthur was somehow meant to survive it. If he really wanted, he could spend time reviewing everything he knew about the boy, to find the pieces of his personality that fit this jigsaw. But he was less than sober, and by the looks of it, Alfred soon wouldn't be able to stand. It didn't bloody matter what he _had_ thought. He more than knew _now_.

Arthur laughed, a slight chuckle. "What do I think about men?" His fingers drummed lightly on the table, tapping in time with the increased rhythm of his own heart. "Well, we wouldn't have much of a society without them, now would we." His eyes held a steady, calculated interest, fixated on Alfred's own glassy blues. "And in the interest of _society_ ," he quirked his lips, smile treading dangerous waters. "I think it best that we discuss the benefits of men somewhere...less resistant to progressive thought." 

This was not nothing. But was it _something_? Already, Arthur was ten steps ahead of himself, wondering how to balance the alibi of Alfred's presence with the ever pressing need to pursue his nightly endeavours. Secrets were secrets, in the end. Neither of them had to be outright with it.

That smirk nearly stopped Alfred's heart. That was...yes, that was...Arthur was _accepting_ of people like Alfred. Relief washed over him, cool and comfortable despite the heat on Alfred’s face.

"You mean you want to... talk somewhere else? We can leave the...we can leave here, yes. I can pay for the tab! Wait, you said you would. You..."

Arthur was flirting, wasn't he? Good gracious God, Alfred was probably going to Hell and he didn't even care anymore. If Arthur truly was flirting, and it seemed like it, then...then maybe, maybe Alfred might have a chance to _kiss_ someone for once.

He downed the last of his cocktail, not knowing exactly what he was getting himself into. But honestly, he didn’t even care. Even being able to _discuss_ his sexuality with someone, that was...

The only person he'd ever told was his mother, and that didn't end well. He hadn't seen her in years after _that_ argument. Alfred stood up, blinking a few times, making sure he could stand properly. Yes, he could. He wasn't as drunk as last night. "We can go."

Smiling, Arthur rose as well, his drink empty. He felt rather light, giddy with this new secret knowledge of his protege. A thousand questions tumbled through his mind as they waded through the pub, a million different scenarios competing for credence in his thoughts. He stopped momentarily to hand a few coins to the bartender, brushing off Alfred's attempt at offering his own salary. 

"Let's take a walk, shall we?" he asked once they'd crossed the threshold back out onto the cobbled street. "I'm in no hurry to return home, unless you are. I only figured you might be able to speak more freely if we distanced ourselves from gossip-hungry ears." 

He pulled his coat around him, tight against his shoulders. It was much cooler out here, for which he was grateful. The alcohol was warming enough, but it had served its initial purpose and now threatened to addle his tongue. He focused instead on putting one foot in front of the other.

"Yes, let's walk!" Alfred fell into step with him. It was a bit nippy outside, but he'd downed his drinks more quickly than Arthur. He was warm, even without his annoying top hat. "Where're we going? I'm in a— in no rush to go home either."

Alfred waited until the lights from the pub were in the distance, a few hundred or so feet away. "Arthur, I'm... sick. I can't be cured of it, my mother left when I told her about it. I— you're the only other person I've ever... told. Ever. I’m scared I will ruin everything for myself."

Now he was blabbing his life story. Well, he'd see how Arthur would respond. Alfred stumbled slightly, bumping gently against Arthur before regaining his step. "You wouldn't tell anyone, would you? I just want..." He trailed off, his muddled brain having trouble stringing his thoughts together.

Arthur hummed, leading them through the quiet streets. He didn't have a particular destination in mind; his feet carried him forward, his thoughts carried him further. He kept his hands on his coat, very conscious suddenly of what he did and did not touch. 

"Alfred, you're hardly the first person with this sort of affliction that I've met. And although I never really...thought about it, I suppose, it doesn't change the fact that I will continue to respect you as a surgeon, and as my assistant." 

He looked at him sideways, barely a glance. "I am no stranger to having to hide one's true nature for the sake of survival. In my years, I've learned who to trust, and who to lie to. I pray that you are someone I can trust as well." He had no reason to doubt it, not judging by the boy's excitable tongue and firm decision to Not Look In Arthur's Direction. "It would be a pity to have to part ways over something as silly as one's personal proclivities."

"You... really don't mind? At all?" Alfred drew closer to Arthur as they walked. It was as if the man's gravitational pull had that of the moon's strength on the tides. "...Thank you. I'm so relieved! I— really, I... even just telling someone means so much to me. It means _so_ much. More than you know. And you can trust me..."

His bleary eyes flickered over to Arthur before he looked back ahead of them. "I'm glad. I... Severing my relationship with you would, well, it would ruin everything. I can't imagine what I would do." He breathed out slowly, feeling his thoughts slow from the intoxication. "You're so important to me, did you know how important to me you are? So important."

Despite his better judgement, Arthur reached out to touch Alfred lightly on the arm, steadying him. He steadied himself too, incidentally; his head was buzzing, the flickering street lamps that guided them fading in and out of his cognition. 

"Am I important to you, am I?" he asked, chuckling slightly. "Well, if I didn't know before, I certainly do now." He realized their contact too late and pulled away, glancing over his shoulder with another chuckle. No one had seen; there was no one _to_ see, and yet Arthur felt eyes watching them from the brick. That was his habit, nowadays. 

"And you're daft if you _really_ think I could sever our relationship over...over what, over the fact that you like..." He giggled, voice dropping to a whisper. _"Shagging_ men? Christ man don't you know there are worse crimes?"  
  
Alfred’s face turned bright red, the flush even traveling to the tips of his ears. "Th-tha...well that's certainly one way to put it, but it's not like I've done that sorta thing yet! And it's still a— it's still a horrible sin! Why're you laughing? Is it really that amusing?" 

He put his hands over his eyes and shook his head. Oh _even better_ , he had just admitted he was an adult virgin. "I-I try to be a good man! Fuck I'm drunk, I just wanted...agh." He stopped walking to lean against the alley wall. They were in a quiet part of town now; there was not another soul in sight.

Arthur paused, stepping back to give Alfred some space. He stood silently in the middle of the lane, feeling time slow between them. He hadn't intended for the evening to take so many winding turns but here they were, alone and lost together with so much suddenly brought to light. This felt important, somehow. Intentional.

"You _are_ a good man," Arthur said quietly. "Much more so than I." He tugged at his ascot, loosening it only slightly in order to fiddle with something. "And having...desires isn't inherently sinful. God gave man free will. It's in our nature to behave without clear cause. Perhaps I shouldn't be encouraging it but..." 

He paused, searching for the words. "You have good intent in your heart. And if you've not yet pursued any sort of... _respite_ for your—” he sighed, cheeks warming, "—desires..." He cleared his throat unnecessarily. "Well. I see no reason for you to worry."

Alfred, to be honest, was having a bit of trouble fully comprehending what Arthur was implying. But he understood enough. "So you don't... wait... you don't believe it's a bad thing? S'that... do you mean to say it's not bad? Not an evil thing?"

Truth be told he had never met anyone who openly admitted to that. But from what he could understand, Arthur didn't even seem to think it was a problem. _At all._ "I do want to, though..." He blinked, fidgeting with the bottom of his shirt. "I just, I always feel so alone. I’m around everyone but _alone_ , and— why am I telling you this? God!"

He turned his head away. Even in his wasted state, he was coming to the realization that he was admitting far too much.

Frankly, no, Arthur didn't believe it was a bad thing. He was usually of the opinion that sin was a relatively personal affair. To generalize morally ambiguous actions as being 'sinful' was to ignore intent, and in his learnèd opinion, intent was what separated a sinful _action_ from a sinful _man_ . And there was no possible way that Arthur could be the latter; he prided himself on being dutifully God-fearing, and he made a point to keep to the more important sacraments. So he preferred to think of his interests as 'taboo' and nothing else. Him, a sinful man? _Hardly._

"Alfred, have I ever given you reason not to confide in me?" he asked gently, watching Alfred's face fade in and out of focus. "We cannot pretend to know God, but he knows us, regardless. And do you think he would want one of his children to suffer the way you do? That is not the merciful God that I've dedicated my life to."

He crossed his arms, hugging himself to try and keep his upper body from leaning too far one way or the other. "That being said, I...well, I am no priest. But I do know that love and desire, though related, are not one in the same. Sometimes we must make sacrifices for love, but we should never make them for desire." 

He frowned at himself, thinking of all the sermons and heated conversations he'd ever overheard, damning people like Alfred, like _himself_ , to Hell. If only those cowards knew his higher purpose; how they would eat their words.

Alfred broke his gaze from the cobblestones to meet Arthur's eyes again. "So... if it's love then it wouldn't be a sin? Even if it was... with another man?" His hazy mind thought that over for a moment. His parents had always followed the Church so rigorously. Everything Arthur was saying contradicted what he had been taught his entire life. Well, one thing Arthur said _did_ line up with the teachings. God didn't want his children to suffer. Alfred was greatly suffering by holding back his sexuality. And God, he was loving and merciful, right?

"I wanna... love someone," Alfred said quietly. “I’m so, _so_ tired of being... alone. Even if I—even just once, even if just _once_ someone would... If I were to find a lover, it would..." He trailed off again, but he didn't look away from Arthur this time, fingers fidgeting with his coat buttons incessantly.

Arthur found himself suddenly overwhelmed with a deep aching sadness, gazing back at Alfred. His mind wrestled with itself, chastising him for even caring about the boy's interests; only just last night, he'd seriously considered erasing him permanently from the world. True, he hadn't _wanted_ that, it was more of a matter of self preservation than actual desire.

But even still, he could see himself in Alfred's nervousness. Once, he had been caught by his father in the stables, engaged in a relatively chaste kiss with their footman. And once was all it took for Arthur to hide that part of him away forever, burying it under the floorboards of brothels, denying its existence, even as he partook of it in secret places. He was no stranger to his own lies. But Alfred...Alfred hadn't even had _one_ lover, let alone a myriad of faceless strangers. No wonder he was so trusting.

"It's not easy," Arthur agreed, his fingers curling into his sides. "I gave up on the idea of love a long time ago. And then, when I thought I was on the right path with...a woman, she. Well, she denied me."

Arthur still felt her blood on his hands. It has been just over a month now. Where had the time gone?

"You deserve happiness, Alfred. Out of everyone I know, you do." He smiled kindly, inclining his head. "And it's nice to find a...a sort of kindred spirit in all this. You aren't alone."

He had an urge, suddenly, a dangerous thought that might lead to infinitely more harm than good. And still he entertained it, picturing... Alfred's lips against his, their breath together...No. Restraint. That's what was best. He was glad that the darkness could hide his burning cheeks.

Alfred's jaw dropped ever so slightly. His chest felt like it had been hit with a major blow.

_So he does prefer women. I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up._

Alfred strained a smile. "Thank you, Arthur. You deserve... to be happy. You deserve happiness too. I'm sorry that woman hurt you, and...thank you for letting me confide in you. But I should— s'best maybe that I go home now." He slowly tore his eyes away, gazing instead down the quiet street."Think I maybe...too much to drink. I'm...I feel ill. I'll... ah, I haven't a clue where we are. Needa carriage..."

 _Damn it_ . He should’ve been happy that he found someone to confide in. But now he was experiencing certain feelings for Arthur that would surely never be reciprocated. _Foolish._

Arthur blinked, reorienting himself. Things had been going well, hadn’t they? Perhaps he’d been a bit too forward. He hadn't exactly been outright with his own confession, but it was clear now that Alfred would rather keep him at a distance. That was probably for the best for both of them, right? 

"Hang on, Al-," he began before cutting himself off. _Don't push him._ He felt humiliated for even considering the notion that Alfred might want him too. It was childish and hopeful and _fuck all,_ the last thing Arthur needed was to split his mental processing even further. He had work to do. Developing this sort of interest in his assistant was quite literally the worst possible thing he could set his sights on. 

"I'll...I don't want you to be out if you're feeling ill. I can call a carriage." He busied himself by fumbling in his pockets for some coin. "I would see you home but, forgive me. I'm picking up on the fact that you might want to be alone. I'm truly terribly sorry for intruding on your evening." He started to lead them out of the narrow road, ears burning.

Alfred nearly tripped, turning swiftly to keep up with Arthur. "No! _N-no!_ Don't mistake me! This was, I...it meant a great deal to me. You cheered me up, really." It was better to push Arthur away, wasn’t it? He needed to in order to protect himself. But Alfred’s heart was aching, yearning for Arthur to come closer, to perform the impossible, to _want him_...

Alfred had no idea how he would be able to face the man on Monday. He could never view their relationship in the same way again. Even now, he had no idea what to say, so he stayed silent as he followed Arthur back to the busier streets. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets and, once a carriage was ready for him, climbed inside without ceremony.  
  
"Until Monday," he slurred, waving to Arthur. That was all he could come up with.

  
Miraculously, Arthur managed to get himself home in one piece. He slammed the door to his estate, causing one of his attendants to start violently from where he'd fallen asleep in a chair. Not wishing to be bothered by anyone for the rest of the night, he wordlessly hurried upstairs, making quick work of locking the bedroom door. Despite his hammering heart, he undressed as calmly as he could, willing himself to breathe as he prepared himself for bed. His thoughts consumed him, pushing and pulling his heart in all directions, confusing his addled mind even further. When he finally did retire, his head ached from all of it; his pillow was a welcome reprieve. Soon, he drifted into unconsciousness. 

The alcohol failed to keep him properly asleep, and Arthur found himself waking at odd hours, mind spinning from dreams of Alfred, of work, of women with wry smiles and sightless eyes. He tossed in his sheets, waking and sleeping and waking again in a sleepless cycle. It was mid-afternoon by the time he properly roused himself, body aching and mood beyond help. 

He itched for respite. He considered his options as his house attendants drew him a bath; they prepared him for the day in silence, understanding that the master of the house would speak if it was necessary, but they weren't to encourage it.

 _What to do?_ Arthur mused, eyes closing at the feeling of hot water in his hair. He could go another round of drinking and try to find someone to take his mind _off_ Alfred. There was a place he used to frequent years ago, one of those "you only know if you know" sort of pubs that kept spare beds in the basement. Perhaps that would be nice, feeling the rough touch of another man, so comforting in contrast to the gentle caress of the harlots in the slums.

But that led to another train of thought; why not hunt for someone else entirely, some nameless woman to dispose of? Wielding his knife gave him more freedom and exhilaration than any lover ever could. He'd be doing another service for the town, and certainly one for himself. He needed these feelings obliterated. He needed release.

It was decided. Tonight, the Ripper would strike once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a long chapter this week! I hope you all enjoy! It's been interesting, taking an RP and making it into a cohesive story. I feel like it's pretty obvious when the perspective shifts, so I hope it's still followable! Let me know if you have any questions. Thanks for reading!


	3. Distraction

Alfred spent his Saturday mulling over the previous night’s events, trying to figure out how to deal with everything that had happened. He was absolutely dreading Monday, when he’d be forced to see the surgeon again.  
  
It didn’t help that his sleep had been riddled with nightmares of the Ripper. Whereas Arthur had dreamt of Alfred, work, and countless nameless women, Alfred’s mind had been stuck replaying different iterations of his near-death encounter.   
  
_That woman gutted on the ground. That horrible sight. Choking on her own blood, unable to cry for help. Alfred screaming and running away again, always getting caught and dragged into a dark street, threats whispered into his ear._

_"You foolish boy, meddling by doing things and being in places you shouldn't. This is your punishment. May God have mercy on you."_

He woke up screaming, covered in a cold sweat. _Just a nightmare._

After spending the day sulking over his unrequited feelings, Alfred decided he should distract himself and go out somewhere. Perhaps he would journey to that east end pub again. He wouldn’t drink himself to oblivion this time, though. He wouldn’t dare make that mistake twice. But some of the men he'd met before would likely be there, and they’d welcome him back with open arms. Yes, that would be a good distraction, alcohol and wild stories and new friends.

  
Across London, the evening descended rather quickly.   
  
Arthur left his home quite shortly after the lamps were lit, bidding his house attendants a pleasant night. He headed straight for the darkened street that many locals referred to as the "Hen's Roost.” It was where the busy gentleman went looking for a good time. The women who loitered here were vultures, hungry for coin and companionship. It didn't take long for one to attach herself to his arm. She smelled of cheap perfume and tobacco smoke, and didn't ask when Arthur, smiling, led her off down the road. 

There was an abandoned shop tucked into a dingy corner of the east end, kitty-corner from a rowdy pub. Arthur was certain that the noise from the establishment would cover his efforts well. Even so, he led her inside the building, hand on the small of her back. She was already undressing, commenting on his appearance, complimenting his taste. He started to undress as well, neatly draping his overcoat, waistcoat and shirt on a dusty countertop.

Meanwhile, Alfred sat at a table just across the way, tipsy as he listened to one of his new friends babble on about the time he jumped into the Thames stark naked simply because of a dare. But suddenly, something felt off. Very off. It sent a shiver down his back, and his friends’ faces faded out of Alfred’s vision. Was someone watching him? Alfred glanced behind himself, eyes flitting about the crowded pub in a frantic search. _What in the world? Why do I have this awful feeling?_

"...Alfred, ye all right there, mate? Look like ye've just seen a ghost. Alfred?"

After a few moments, Alfred turned back around. He shook his head, laughing a little to ease his nerves. "Apologies, I'm just... a bit on edge. There’s nothing to it. Don’t mind me. Please, do continue." He stared down at his drink.

  
Arthur took his time with her. His cuts were deep, crisscrossing and angry. She'd been alive only a few seconds, choking and breathless as he set to work on the rest of her body. Without Alfred here to interrupt, he experimented, removing things, reorienting others. Soon, his hands dissipated his anger; before him lay the unmoving result of his artistry, an angel, awaiting acceptance in heaven. 

Standing, he wiped his hands on her discarded frock, taking care to scrub the residue from his nails. Calmly, glancing at her now and then, he redressed, careful to not get blood on his pressed linen. Once finished, he took one final look about the area, satisfied with his work. The papers could say what they liked; she was beautiful like this, unrecognizable and debased.

He crossed the street briskly, thankful for the emptiness of the lane. Slipping inside the pub, he tipped his hat to the bartender before removing it, setting it on a hook near the door. 

"Gin, please," he asked politely, leaning against the counter. The pub was indeed lively, filled with loud conversation and the clink of empty glasses. Arthur observed the patrons with a distant smile, pausing only to receive his drink. But as he brought it to his lips, his blood nearly ran cold; from a distance he could see Alfred, sitting at a table amongst a group of raucous attendees. What the ever-loving _hell_ was _he_ doing here? Arthur quickly turned around, burying his nose in his glass.

  
That horrible feeling in Alfred’s stomach had grown even worse, forming a knot that was almost physically painful. Once more, Alfred glanced behind himself. _Lord_ , he really was paranoid—

 _Wait, is that…?_ The man had turned his back to Alfred, but he stuck out like a sore thumb. His clothes were more upper-class than everyone else here. Alfred stood up. "Arthur? Is that you-?"

Oh, wait. No. _No_ , he didn't want Arthur to see him right now, not after last night. But what the Hell was _Arthur_ doing here?! In this sort of pub? No way the atmosphere suited his taste!

Mirroring the other, Alfred quickly sat down again, turned his back, and brought his drink up to his lips. He tried listening to his friends again. He really hoped Arthur didn't hear him. Now he was trying hard not to fidget.

Arthur’s ears had pricked at mention of his name, but he remained facing the way he was, eyes unfocused on the bottles behind the bar. _Shit._ So Alfred had seen him. He half expected a resulting clasp on his shoulder, a friendly invitation to have a few rounds with his friends. When none came, Arthur turned again, ever so slightly. Alfred was facing away, engaged in his previous discussion. 

Arthur felt disappointment sink through his chest, followed quickly by the burn of anger. _So what_ , his assistant was here. His assistant who, he'd discovered quite recently, had a fondness for men. And incidentally, that fondness wasn't extended to Arthur, even though he'd responded in kind. Arthur bit his cheek, willing his irritation to dissipate. Maybe last night had been a misunderstanding. Maybe they'd both been too drunk to have made any sense. Maybe he'd read the atmosphere incorrectly; it had ruined things for Arthur before, and it surely could have led to this...this...

...Whatever _this_ was, it was souring his mood. Did Alfred see him, or didn't he? Was Arthur interrupting, or would Alfred be happy to see him again? If he was more forward, would Alfred reject him? Or would their relationship evolve? The woman he'd only just left across the road seemed to have departed lifetimes ago. She faded from his mind as Alfred took her place, his hands, his eyes, his smile...

London felt rather small in that moment, claustrophobic and too _familiar_. Arthur quickly downed the rest of his gin.

 _Damn._ Alfred could feel Arthur’s eyes looming over at his table. He had heard him. 

Alfred panicked, trying to decide how to handle this. He quickly reasoned it would be even worse come Monday if he just ignored Arthur when they both knew they were in the same pub.

Still, he sat there and hesitated. Why was he doing this to himself? Arthur liked women. Alfred should just try to resort back to their strictly master/apprentice relationship, but... that wouldn't work, would it? It would never feel the same. Alfred steeled himself, taking a deep breath. "Arthur! I, um— you seem a bit lonely, care to join us?" He finally called out and waved at the man. This was absolute torture. But both options were bad, and Alfred's longing to be near the other was not going to go away.

Arthur couldn't ignore _that._ Lonely? Perhaps a well-dressed gentleman already halfway through his second drink and without a companion did appear...lonely. He felt his jaw clench. 

Motioning for a third drink, he hurriedly finished his second, offering Alfred a friendly wave in return. To refuse him now was to further isolate himself; he already assumed that the rest of the pub thought he considered himself their better. He did, but he didn't want to _appear_ so. 

Leaving the bar, Arthur made his way over to Alfred's table, smiling politely at the rest of its inhabitants. It seemed as though Alfred had made a space directly next to him, so Arthur took it, nearly hiding behind his drink in order to blend in.

Alfred cleared his throat. The place was crowded, so Arthur was inevitably crammed close to him when he took a seat. "So, um… Arthur! Yes. This is Arthur, everyone, he's the one I've told you about. The incredible surgeon teaching me the practice. Introduce yourselves!"

They all went around the table one by one, saying their names: Johnny, Frederick, Phil. The three were already piss poor drunk, but they greeted Arthur like he was an old friend. They then promptly returned to bantering back and forth with each other, giving Alfred a moment alone with Arthur. 

Alfred held tightly onto his pint of beer, drinking it ever so slowly. "So Arthur, um... What brings you here? I never thought you'd come to this side of town. Didn't you say it was dangerous? I...well, I suppose that's the pot calling the kettle black, I mean, I'm here too. I like it here, though. No one is snobbish. But I'll be safer this time! I won't wander about the streets again. But... in all seriousness, why are _you_ here?" 

He could barely look at the other man. His heart was aching.

Arthur quickly forgot the names he learned, his interest occupied solely by the man seated at his side. He thought for a moment, considering the most believable response as he partook of his drink.

"I hope you don't think I'm purposefully intruding," he said finally, glancing up at Alfred before looking ahead once more. "In truth, I wanted to get away from some rather unpleasant company. I found myself drawn to the area in my haste."

"Really? But you... Arthur, you don't really... This was an odd place to choose. You do realize how much you stand out amongst everyone else?"

Alfred shook his head a little, internally berating himself. "Sorry, that might have come off as rude. I just wasn't expecting to see you until Monday, you know? Haha. Seeing my boss on the weekend two nights in a row at a pub. It's just, I don't know..."

He set his drink down. "N-not that there's a problem with it! Just unexpected, that's all." He was grappling for words. This pub was his new place for escape, and Arthur's presence had destroyed that. "So, um, how has your day been?"

"Alfred," the surgeon said firmly, setting his glass in front of him. "You didn't need to invite me over if you were only doing it to be polite. If you gain nothing from my presence here, I don't wish to detract from your evening." 

Alfred shrank into his seat.

Arthur gave him a long, firm look, brows knitted together. "I didn't think it mattered to you, our working relationship. You were at ease with me for a good part of last night, and you told me you even wanted us to go to events together. Now, I don't understand what changed, but I won't sit here and just tolerate this...this superficial display. You pursue conversation even though you _clearly_ would rather avoid me, and I'm just supposed to go along with it because what, you think I feel _entitled_ to your attention!?"

Arthur hadn't realized his voice had risen until he felt eyes on him, not only Alfred's, but their tablemates' as well. Falling silent, Arthur felt white hot heat crawl up the base of his neck. He couldn't blame all of his outburst on the gin, but it did contribute.

"No! That's not, I wasn't, I-I-... Arthur, I just, you were, and I— well last night didn't end very well, so I figured maybe we could..."

What? Start courting each other? _He doesn't like men, you fool._ The American ran a shaky hand through his hair. Arthur had never raised his voice at him like that. And yet... that anger. It sounded somehow familiar. Some eerie déjà vu, like a voice from a forgotten dream. It set him even more on edge.

Alfred sat up straighter, defensive now. "Yes, I thought it would be rude to leave you up at the counter by yourself when we both noticed each other here and you looked lonely. But there's no need to shout at me!" He raised his eyes, meeting Arthur's heated gaze despite his shaking bottom lip.

Arthur reached for his drink again, letting Alfred's voice placate him. The irritation he felt churning in his stomach didn't dissipate, but he made an effort to lower his voice.

"I apologize for my tone," he said shortly, unable to keep the bite from his words. "Of course, I shouldn't fault you for being polite." He took a long sip, finishing the rest of it off. "I must admit I...I am dealing with the disappointment of last night in a way that is less than professional. Forgive me."

Alfred swallowed. It did _not_ help how closely they were sitting next to each other. Every time he shifted, his shoulder brushed Arthur's. "I forgive you," he said quietly.

He broke gazes to stare down at the table. His mates had gotten up and patted him on the shoulder, mumbling goodbyes. Clearly they didn't want to be stuck watching this argument. "I am not dealing with it well either. That's why I came here." He was far too aware of Arthur's irritation. This was the last thing he wanted to happen. "I was the one who was rude last night. It was my fault. I took off home abruptly."

He had his reasons, of course. Realizing one's feelings for another only to discover they would never reciprocate said feelings, all within the same night... It had been too much to handle. It still was.

"I'm not upset that you left," Arthur clarified, keeping his voice low. Now that they were alone, it was equal parts harder and easier to confess the truth. "I just. Wasn't ready to deal with the rejection, I suppose." 

He laughed slightly, staring into the empty glass in his hands. "And that's ridiculous, isn't it? I didn't even know you were, well...And to be so conceited as to think you'd actually want that from _me_ , I mean, that's utterly..." He trailed off, still not ready to come right out with it. "I shouldn't be upset with you."

He shouldn't, but he was. He kept his eyes low, acutely aware of where they were in proximity to each other, and to others. Things were once again dangerous between them, more dangerous than that night in the alley, though Alfred might disagree. Even so, Arthur reasoned it was easier to hold someone at knifepoint. Feelings, and being honest about them, were a bit more complex.

Alfred's jaw dropped at the revelation. "Pardon? _Rejection?_ You... Wait, Arthur." 

Alfred now blatantly stared at the other. "Arthur, you said you loved a woman. So I got upset and I thought— Wait, what's going on? Are you…?"

He reminded himself of where they were, and he lowered his voice. "Arthur, I..." He fidgeted in his seat. He looked around them. Was anyone listening? No, they weren't. But there was a sudden spark of hope again, a wide-eyed gleam that hadn't shown all day. Alfred leaned closer, cupping his hand over Arthur's ear just to ensure _nobody_ would catch what he was about to say. He inhaled shakily. He didn't know how else to put it. So he might as well just be blunt, because Alfred was not the best with words. "Arthur, I like you. I thought you only preferred women. Do you... want me too?" 

Oh Lord was his face red. Alfred pulled back sharply, his breath quickened.

Arthur blinked slowly, eyes moving from his own hands to Alfred's face. He must have missed something, surely. The gin had gone to his head, or he had heard absolutely wrong, or Alfred was making a fool out of him. _I like you? Do you want me too?_ Was this some sort of test? His chest was tight, his thoughts half-forming before dissipating into nonsensical emotional wants. _Of course I do. Of course._ It had to be some sort of lie.

 _Or,_ he reasoned, staring into those hopeful blues, _he's being honest, and you're the fool_. It wouldn't have been the first time Arthur's own shortsightedness led to a complete misinterpretation of a situation. The idea lent him some relief from his heavy heart, though doubt still curled around the outer edges.

"I...I do," he said simply. "I do like you. All I meant the other day was that I...well, it's _easier_ to take up with a woman." He swallowed. "That doesn't mean that's what I prefer."

Alfred’s eyes twinkled. So Arthur _was_ flirting the other day. Well that was just, that was—

Alfred burst out of his seat with a massive smile, his voice louder than ever. "What in the world were you— ? I told you about myself yesterday! We could've avoided all this torment! Why didn’t you just tell me? Arthur! Arthur, are you willing to—" 

Oh wait, they were still in public. And now his outburst had drawn attention to them again. Several patrons had turned their heads to stare at the boy who seemed way too excited over his beer and the man sitting next to him. 

Alfred sat down, smile wide to hide his embarrassment. His voice dropped to a whisper again. "Sorry. That was far too loud. Really though, do you want to...? With me? You want to...? We can't tell anyone. And I know it's even stranger, with our, um, well our work relationship..." 

He started fiddling with his shirt cuffs, but he kept his hopeful eyes on Arthur. "I don't mind if you don't— I-I mean, it can't affect my training that much, could it? And eventually getting myself licensed. As long as it's a secret? If we just—"

"Alfred, _Alfred_ ," Arthur interrupted, placing a hand on his arm to slow his pace. "One thing at a time." Despite his firm tone, he smiled, relief finally washing any remaining doubt from his mind. "Let's...we don't have to talk about it too much, but. I would like that, getting to know you in a different way. If you'll have me, that is." 

He knew they'd be in agreement about the secrecy; they had a practice and a reputation to uphold. It was another thing entirely to consider Alfred more firmly as a part of his life. Would he have to give up his newfound occupation, the one that stole his weekend interest? Or would Alfred's suspicion dissipate, would he trust that the man who provided for them both in knowledge and in confidence? Arthur wasn't partial to the first outcome, but he supposed he would have to be patient. The future between them was heavily undecided. 

"I don't know about you, but I could use another drink," he continued, laughing slightly in embarrassment. "This is just a lot to take in right away."

"It is a lot to take in. Cheers? Because my answer is yes!" Alfred couldn’t stop smiling as he called out to the waitstaff to refill Arthur's drink. "I'm paying the tab this time, so don't bother trying. Knowing this about you, thinking about what this is...That's more than enough for me, and—"

He was interrupted by two officers barging in the door.   
  
"Oi! Apologies for disturbing you, but there has been yet another gruesome murder by the Ripper not far from here. If anyone knows anything, has _seen_ anything, please come forward. For the rest of you lot, make sure to not travel home alone. This killing likely happened less than an hour ago. He may be prowling somewhere nearby. We could catch him if someone can provide any identifying information."

The entire crowd hushed. Some just watched, others whispered. Alfred froze.

He knew information. He had seen the man. He had been _grabbed_ by the man. He could go up and tell them. He'd been blasted drunk, but he still remembered the Ripper's general height, his lankiness, the profile of his face, darkened in the shadows. He’d even heard his voice, growling and soaked with rage.

But then what if the Ripper found out he'd told? He would be a dead man. Alfred stayed silent, gripping onto his glass a bit too tightly.

"My word," Arthur said, voice barely above a whisper. "Can we not have a pleasant evening in this city any longer?" He curled his fingers over Alfred's hand, not caring in that moment if anyone paid any mind; the pub seemed to collectively be focused on the entrance of the officers. 

With the turning of the atmosphere, Arthur felt a sense of panic settle along his spine. He was confident in his ability to be calm under pressure, but even so, he knew he was out of place. Surely, he'd be questioned if suspicion was raised. And with Alfred here, who could vouch for his good name and profession, he was almost doubly incriminated: an upper class surgeon in a pub like this. Coincidental, to be sure. It was basically a death sentence. 

"I don't mean to startle you, Alfred, but I think it would be best if we cut the evening short. I for one am in no hurry to end up gutted on the side of the road."

Alfred was brought out of his trance of horror by the hand placed over his. A small bit of comfort. He tore his eyes away from the officers. "Y-yes, yes, I think that's a good idea. We should leave. Now."

He stood up and removed his now clammy hand from Arthur's. He walked over to the barkeep and placed a generous handful of pence on the counter. It was more than enough to cover the tab; he didn't want to stick around here any longer.

It seemed as though many of the patrons were of similar mind. There was a slow rush towards the exit, much to the disappointment of the waitstaff. The officers, in contrast, had found a table and sat talking to some of the worried attendees, offering statements of reassurance. Arthur only overheard bits and pieces of their conversation; "...just across the square...a woman, no doubt...not yet confirmed." He wasn't eager to hear anything more.

Once outside, Arthur set off in the direction of the public road, trailing behind several loud, drunken pub-goers. He had no reason to be anxious, but he allowed his worry to manifest physically; he crossed his arms against the cold, biting his lips as he kept his eyes down on the cobblestones. At his side, Alfred also seemed understandably shaken, filled with a different sort of nervous energy that caused him to take up a brisk pace. Arthur wished he could reassure him, but the truth would only push them apart for good.

"Thank you for the tab," he said instead, voice still low as they walked together. "I wish we could've stayed a bit longer. Perhaps it's best if we both avoid this area, at least for some time. I don't want anything bad to happen."

"You’re welcome. And yes, I think it's best we avoid these parts of town. I like the Goat’s Horn, but... if the murder happened so close to it, then..."

 _No._ He couldn't say a word. Not if he might run into the killer again. 

"...Then it’s not as safe as I thought it was. This whole area is just..." He wasn't sure how to complete that sentence, so he fell silent. As they walked, Alfred adjusted his step so their shoulders nearly touched. Despite how mortified he was by the fact that the Ripper had struck again so close to where he'd spent his evening, he was slowly able to shake off his nerves. He and Arthur had something together now. That was what mattered.

They eventually made their way back into the wealthier neighborhoods of London. Arthur leaned slightly into Alfred, grateful for the closeness. It helped ground him, putting his thoughts in order and his fears temporarily to rest. As they approached the central city, he felt himself calm; the officers would have their hands full interviewing drunken superstitious fools.

"If you're not opposed to it, I know of some places that might interest you," he said after a moment, pausing to look around at the busy street. "It doesn't always have to be a pub, though I do prefer them. But there are places people like us go if you know where to look for them." 

He regarded Alfred, a knowing smile on his face. "Just for, you know. In the future, if you want to drink more freely together. But as for now, how do you feel? Should we retire home?"

Alfred quirked an eyebrow. _Places for people like them?_ "Yes, I think it's about time to head home. So much has happened today. I need sleep desperately. But I’m intrigued by these places you speak of. You'll have to show me one sometime."

He looked across the street. If he were to head home now, he'd need to split ways with Arthur here. He knew vaguely where the man lived but had never seen the place for himself. It was in a more uppity neighborhood than his own, for sure. "So, until Monday? For real this time." He laughed slightly, watching Arthur's green eyes as they reflected the dim street lamps.

Arthur smiled, nodding. Sleep pulled at his eyes, offering a welcome respite from the events of the day. "Until Monday," he agreed. 

For a moment, caught in the streetlight with Alfred, Arthur pictured it; a future full of easy nights, of dimly lit pubs and roaring fires, of having someone by his side during the darkest hours, someone who respected him and cherished him without need for anything else. Alfred was brilliant, capable, trusting and goodhearted and...and everything Arthur could never be. The boy would realize it eventually; either, he would stumble into the chaotic world Arthur currently inhabited and deny it, eventually understanding that the man he so respected was too flawed for his innocent love. Or more likely, the boy would discover the truth and not survive it, forcing Arthur's hand against him.

Presently, Arthur couldn't bear to think of the latter. It had been hard enough to see Alfred as a shell of himself. Imagining him as a corpse twisted his heart in several unpleasant ways. 

For now, this would be enough. Together, they would be enough.

They parted ways as a carriage arrived, Arthur waving a cordial goodbye. The promise of Monday gave his anxieties some relief, and his journey home was comfortable enough, his mind focusing instead on bright blue eyes and the soft touch of Alfred at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everyone for the lovely kudos and comments! Seriously, your feedback means the world to us. We really hope you enjoyed this week's update! Looking forward to posting more soon!


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